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The Haunting |
We had a big fight,
The kind that cannot be resolved, and now,
He is no longer my friend,
But merely words on paper that I have shredded up and torn,
Tossed out with the potato peels and egg shells,
Coffee grounds and a disposable dust cloth;
He has become
Simply a painful reminder,
One that causes twinges like paper cuts to the soul,
All the more biting for their tiny, irritating stings;
He currently resides as a lump in my throat,
A burning, twist in my stomach,
An acid taste in my mouth.
He will be reduced, one day,
To a memory that will
Be covered with dust and surrounded by the stink of moth balls,
Eventually to be set free to float on the wind where
He can haunt someone else.
copyright 2005
Aurora
Antonovic |
